


Hearts Beating in Sync

by EvanescentLife



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 20:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14880554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanescentLife/pseuds/EvanescentLife
Summary: They were a tangle of limbs and sheets, with hearts beating in sync.Side note: This might sound like adult content, but it's not





	Hearts Beating in Sync

**Author's Note:**

> Who would've thought I'd post again. Was Looking through my old writing, and this seemed alright, so enjoy.

Harry and Ginny never got back together after the war. But they both went back to Hogwarts. As did most everyone that was left.

Harry didn't go home with them for Christmas. He stayed at the castle with the teachers and students who didn't have any home to go back to.

But Hermione came. And Luna. While the older girl shared a room with Ron, Luna shared a bed with Ginny. They were a tangle of limbs and sheets, their hearts beating in sync. Baddump, badump, baddump. Baddump, baddump, baddump. They were wrapped up in each other, curling up against the nightmares and the pain of loss.

They didn't play quidditch that year. After all, how could the teams be even with a George but no Fred?

In the tangle of limbs and sheets, with hearts beating in sync, Ginny cried at night. She thought they all did. Mum cried during the day, too. George was always locked up in his room. Bill and Fleur joined them sometimes, her belly swollen. It was an odd thing, Ginny thought, to see Fleur without her slimness, losing some of her grace to a heavy stomach and arched back, feet almost always in pain.

Luna talked of butterflies. Of hippogriffs and nifflers, of wrackspurts and little creatures that lived in Ginny's hair. She talked to a fascinated Charlie of dragons, to a disgruntled Hermione of crumple-horned snorkacks, to an unsmiling Fred of ghosts, to a crying Molly of phoenixes. She talked to the gnomes in the garden, to the ghoul in the attic, to the fruit on the trees. She talked and they all listened, dreaming of fantastical creatures and hope buried deep within.

But she shared whispers with Ginny as they lay in bed, their tangle of limbs and sheets, their hearts beating in sync. They were whispers of stories, of triumphs and downfalls, of happiness and pain. Stories of plotting in the Room of Requirement, of tortures from the Carrows. Stories of Shell Cottage and Dean, of a dark cellar and a wandmaker. And Ginny whispered back. About the time without Luna, about listening to the victories and the deaths, about beating the Carrows and losing to them. About knowing they were safe, about knowing others weren't. About Neville, about Tom. About a diary. 

It was their own little world, these whispers, punctuated by warmth, by misery, by hope and by sadness.

Harry did not join them that Christmas, but Luna did. And maybe that's exactly what they needed. That tangle of limbs and sheets, of hearts beating in sync. Baddump, baddump, baddump.


End file.
